SOURCE: Della Cava, Frances A., and Madeline H. Engel. “Racism, Sexism, and Antisemitism in Mysteries Featuring Women Sleuths.” In Diversity and Detective Fiction, edited by Kathleen Gregory Klein, pp. 38-59. Bowling Green, Ohio.: Bowling Green State University Popular Press, 1999.

[In the following essay, Della Cava and Engel explore instances of various kinds of racism in several contemporary detective novels featuring female protagonists.]

As more and more women achieve prominence in mystery fiction both as writers and main characters,¹ a growing concern about social issues has begun to permeate the literature; “humanistic crime fiction” has come to the fore. This subgenre “incorporates in-depth characterization with plot realism and social commentary with detection.” While not limited to books by women, Marcia Muller argues that “this type of novel has become more visible because of the large influx of women into the field” (“In the Tradition” 157). Jon Breen also sees contemporary mystery writers as freer to deal with a variety of themes than were their predecessors. He notes:

[T]oday's writers, aside from the somewhat exaggerated specter of “political correctness,” can deal with just about any subject matter and any point of view in a mystery novel and can seriously explore social issues and subcultures that a writer of the thirties would never have dreamed of addressing.

(5)

However, Breen does not view this freedom in an entirely positive light. He goes on to say:

[Some] writers who have been associated with the crime and mystery genre from the beginning of their careers have tended to downplay [the mystery] elements in their works, stinting on plot while using the mystery as an excuse for social observation. …

(5, emphasis added)

Regardless of whether or not one agrees with Breen's interpretation, a detailed analysis of the novels featuring women as amateur or professional detectives makes clear that the authors have moved beyond the narrow “whodunit” questions of past fiction to become social commentators and social critics. Although several of the social problems touched upon might be defined as “women's issues”—i.e., child abuse,² domestic violence,³ prostitution,⁴ abortion⁵—others affect a broad spectrum of the United States' population. These include alcoholism and the abuse of other substances,⁶ driving while intoxicated,⁷ homelessness,⁸ AIDS,⁹ homophobia,¹⁰ as well as conservation and other environmental concerns.¹¹

RESEARCH METHOD

To assess the extent to which such issues have become important elements in mysteries featuring American women as professional or amateur sleuths, we have reviewed over 800 mystery novels in more than 205 series. Although a few date back to the late 1800s, 80 percent of these series have been created since 1980. This essay is based upon a content analysis of relevant books among those reviewed. No claim is made concerning the randomness of the sample.

ANTIMINORITY SENTIMENT

Among the seemingly endless litany of social problems encountered in contemporary mystery fiction, one set of issues stands out because of its prevalence. Antiminority sentiments, including racism, sexism, and antiSemitism, recur in books featuring female sleuths. Evidence of these sentiments is found in: (1) stereotypical descriptions of non-whites, women and Jews; (2) expressions of prejudice towards these groups; and/or (3) discriminatory behavior directed against them, especially in employment. An analysis of series published in the past 20 years reveals three patterns in the way these themes are depicted.

In some the issues are no more than the subject of incidental commentary, while in others the themes are more pronounced in that they affect the racial, religious, or gender group with which the sleuth identifies. In a third set of novels antiminority sentiment is a major plot element crucial to the mystery.

INCIDENTAL COMMENTARY

Throughout the dialogue in mysteries, slurs against minorities are common. In several novels antiminority sentiment is alluded to or commented on, but receives minimal attention and plays no role in the development of the plot. In Julie Smith's Skip Langdon series, antiSemitic remarks are made in her family's New Orleans home. In one of Michael Kahn's novels, the heroine's Jewish colleague is blocked in his bid to become a partner in the Chicago law firm that employs them. In her role as narrator, the heroine comments that the men in the firm would “shudder at the prospect of introducing [him] to a client as ‘my partner, Ben Goldberg.’” Mr. Goldberg describes the situation more graphically: “[They'd] rather be proctoscoped with an electric cattle prod than have me as a partner” (45). Jews fare no better in the staid New England community which provides the setting for Charlotte MacLeod's Kelling and Bittersohn series. In an early novel her amateur detective's fiancé is referred to as “that Jew-boy,” his uncle is termed “a shyster,” and when one of the townspeople discovers that the fiancé is staying at the detective's boarding house, he calls the guests a “bunch of God-knows-whats all over the place” (189, 27).

Racial minorities are met with similar antagonism. In a book by Robert Nordan one of the characters chooses to “pass” as white rather than continue to suffer the indignities she has met when her black heritage is known. Despite the 1960s' civil rights movement and her own accomplishments—graduating from a northern college with honors—she feels she has to lie to further her career and so she checks “white” whenever a potential employer asks about her race (146-47). Both the lies and the fear of their discovery weigh heavily on the woman's psyche, but she sees them as necessary if she is to succeed socio-economically.

Racism is also apparent in Wendy Hornsby's mystery involving a federal housing project about which her character is making a film documentary, and in P. M. Carlson's Gravestone in which the activities of the Ku Klux Klan are described (189).

REACTIONS TO THE GROUP WITH WHICH THE SLEUTH IDENTIFIES

The past two decades reveal an increasing focus on minorities in the mystery genre. A small but growing percentage of the new female sleuths are members of ethno-racial minority groups—African Americans or black Americans, Hispanic Americans or Latinas, Native Americans, and Asian Americans. In part this new trend reflects the emergence within the mainstream press of minority authors, such as Eleanor Taylor Bland, Barbara Neely, Nikki Baker, Soledad Santiago, and Carolina Garcia-Aguilera. This new focus also is reflected in the attention paid to minority issues and characters by white authors. This may be merely an effort to be politically correct. But one should not discount the rising affluence of minorities and the likelihood that they may become a significant element among potential readers as a factor in this trend. Since people often enjoy reading about characters with whom they can identify, the rise of the minority sleuth is to be expected.

In both Jean Hager's Molly Bearpaw and Dana Stabenow's Kate Shugak series, racist slurs aimed at Native Americans and discrimination against tribal peoples are common occurrences. In neither series is the protagonist herself a target, but her tribe certainly is. The authors suggest that discrimination results in poverty, unemployment, crime, suicide, mental illness, substance abuse, fetal alcohol syndrome, and a variety of other social ills among Native Americans. A parallel theme is the depiction of white characters as money-hungry racists seeking to cheat the tribes out of their lands in order to profit from natural resources or sacred artifacts.

Even when a sleuth's biological connection with a minority group is minimal, she may identify with it. At first the reader's only clue to the ethnic identity of Muller's sleuth, Sharon McCone, is her objection when her lover calls her “papoose” (Edwin 180, 184). Many years and several books later, McCone becomes angered when a Latina colleague declares that McCone could not possibly understand the hardships she and her family have faced. The P.I.'s reply suggests that she now not only identifies with her Shoshone ancestry rather than her European roots, but the former also has taken on greater meaning for her:

How do you know I've had it so easy? You don't know anything about me—haven't even bothered to ask. I haven't experienced as much hardship as you, but my life hasn't been so wonderful, either. Especially not when it comes to prejudice. You may have noticed, although you've never remarked on it, that I have Indian blood—I'm one-eighth Shoshone. Bigots don't like half-breeds—or eighth breeds.

(Wolf 67)

In this later work not only has McCone's self-concept changed, but so have the characteristics of her colleagues. For many years the staff had been all white and presumably straight; now it includes new characters—a Latino, an Asian American, and a black American. In addition, one continuing character is now openly gay. The redefinition of self by the sleuth and the changing composition of the office staff lend support to the idea that authors of mystery fiction are paying increasing attention to minority status.

While racism still affects only a few of the featured characters under study, many of the employed fictional sleuths find gender stereotyping and discrimination by colleagues, supervisors at work, and the general public an almost daily occurrence. Hess's protagonist in the Maggody series is initially treated by a coworker as “a silly girl playing police officer;” it is not until he recognizes her as a “functional professional” that they can work together (92). In Kahn's series the attorney sleuth is referred to frequently as a girl, albeit a beautiful one, which presumably is more flattering than being called a silly one:

I was twenty-nine years old, a member of the Illinois bar, and the veteran of more than a dozen federal and state jury trials and appellate arguments. To [the partners in the firm I worked for], I was still a girl.

(16, emphasis added)

Other fictional characters face more serious discrimination. The deputy sheriff who is the heroine of one of P. M. Carlson's series labors under the protection of her superior because she is his old friend's “little girl.” He assigns her only to cases that seem simple and safe: “Five years in this department and here came another kindergarten job. The token woman. The lady cop. She sighed. Get serious, …, you know what the world's like” (7). The deputy does not get her chance to deal with a major case until the sheriff is hospitalized unexpectedly.

The motives of other commanding officers are less pure. Susan Dunlap's Jill Smith only gets assigned to assistant field commander's work when it means tedious work and possibly bad publicity (109). The glass ceiling is clearly operant and she is “kept in her place” even in as liberal a community as Berkeley, California. One result of this sexism is that Smith will not admit to women's intuition, fearing criticism. So she is left to ponder: “Should I square my shoulders, adopt a manly voice, and call it playing a hunch?” (31).

Barbara Paul's protagonist, a police sergeant, finds both her commander and partner patronizing and unwilling to accept her professionally. She considers resigning from the New York Police Department when she is skipped over for promotion largely because her captain—whose own work is shoddy—refuses to recommend her for the position of lieutenant. She is warned by a friend, a former CIA agent, who is trying to get her to become his partner in a private detective agency, that the New York Police Department (NYPD) is not an affirmative action agency:

“Walk away or you'll spend the rest of your life watching men who are less able and less intelligent than you being promoted over you. The NYPD doesn't want you in a lieutenant's office—not someone who had the effrontery to get herself born a woman. …”

That struck home. Getting passed over had not been an easy pill to swallow; despite her high score on the rarely given lieutenant's exam, [she] had watched the only opening go to a man with an equivalent score but fewer years served on the force. It was an inequity that rankled all the more because she was powerless to do anything about it.

(68)

In the first novel in L. V. Sims' series, the female police sergeant faces a sexist boss and colleagues who do not believe that she is capable of handling her job. But she, the daughter and grand-daughter of Irish policemen, is determined to prove herself the equal of the men she works with on the San Jose, California, police force. Her partner quickly comes to recognize her competence; other colleagues are slower to do so, but their harassment of her slowly subsides.

New York City homicide detective Norah Mulcahaney, created by Lillian O'Donnell, is also familiar with resentment toward women on the force. She often sensed it when she “walked into a strange squad room and introduced herself to a police officer” (Pushover 100). Almost all of her first year on the force was spent doing routine chores such as matron duty and the clerical work usually associated with women's roles. More than a decade later Mulcahaney says, “it still wasn't easy [for a woman] to be accepted on the basis of ability” (Pushover 106). And she is one of the more fortunate women on the force as her late husband's friend, her commanding officer, continues to foster her career. He consistently “got her the good assignments and covered her rear in case of a foul-up” (44). In essence he provides her with the mentoring, friendship, and networking that most women lack. But the reader is never sure whether he does so out of respect for her husband who died in the line of duty or out of respect for her competence.

One of O'Donnell's books specifically focuses on women police officers. No Business Being a Cop describes rampant stereotyping and discrimination against policewomen, and the toll these take on their psyches, self-esteem, morale, and job performance. For example, when Mulcahaney tries to enter the scene of the murder of a policewoman, the sergeant, “responding to his inbred instinct that a woman should be protected …, stepped into her way” (8). Though she realizes he is trying to spare her the particularly gruesome sight, Mulcahaney pushes forward and says to him: “It's part of the job.” In acting this way, she senses:

He didn't like her answer and, [Mulcahaney] suddenly realized, he didn't like her either. … Policewomen had not gained the acceptance in the department that the public thought they had. Discrimination was still practiced subtly and sometimes not so subtly.

(9)

In trying to figure out how the victim had gotten to the spot where she died, an interview with the deceased officer's partner reminds Mulcahaney once again of the plight of policewomen:

[He] grimaced. The whole two hundred pounds of him quivered. “I sent … [her] to check the dressing rooms. I figured if there were any ladies still in there. …” Matron duty, [Mulcahaney] thought, that's what it amounted to. Would the women ever shake loose of it?

(11)

O'Donnell's series began in 1972 and in No Business Being a Cop, published in 1979, Mulcahaney reflects the views of real women who had already “come of age” in the 1970s. They had made their way as individuals in the work place, achieving as a result of their own diligence and ability. Mulcahaney pondered the continued conflict between men's and women's attitudes about women who had “made it” on the police force:

She thought that the women in the police department had definitely come a long way. [The captain's] … attitude clearly indicated that the rights the women thought they'd won on merit and hard work, standing there beside the men, working the same hours, taking the same risks, were rights not earned but conferred. Conferred by the grace and favor of the men.

(71)

Despite having risen to the rank of lieutenant after ten years on the force, Mulcahaney still faced sexism on the job, and though less blatant it was no less problematic. As recently as 1994, prejudicial attitudes remained common at the station house and she received harassing telephone calls at home. In one the caller used a muffled, disguised voice to warn her: “You're not wanted. You don't belong. Resign while you still can” (Lockout 54).

Several other professionally employed female law enforcement agents also face sexism on the job. Eleanor Taylor Bland's police detective in Lincoln Prairie, Illinois, J. J. Jance's Cochise County Arizona sheriff, Ruby Horansky's police detective in Brooklyn, New York, Charlene Weir's police chief in Hampstead, Kansas, and Nancy Herndon's police officer in the Crimes Against Person Department of Los Santos, Texas, come to mind as illustrations of the fact that women in the rest of the country fare no better than Mulcahaney does in New York City.

Situations in which women professional sleuths come into contact with people other than supervisors and colleagues are no less fraught with stereotypes. When Muller's P.I. chases a thug in her first case, he says to her: “I don't like being badgered by little girls playing detective” (Edwin 109). When Trocheck's sleuth is interviewing a man about a murder she is investigating, he questions her about her work: “Then he wanted to know how a nice girl like me got into something as seedy as private investigation” (To Live 142). A potential client reacts to Dain's heroine being a private eye: “Really? A girl like you? I mean, you're a big girl, and you look like you could take care of yourself, but …” (13). The male client is extremely reluctant to acknowledge that she might be a competent investigator and bodyguard. The idea of a woman protecting a man is initially too much of a role reversal for him to deal with.

People also stereotype women by casting them in traditional roles. Hess's police chief is mistaken by a “baby faced” doctor for a juvenile suspect's mother when she comes to question the youth in the hospital (170). Similarly, Martin's police officer is mistaken for a secretary by a victim's wife who exclaims, “I don't want to talk to a secretary, I want to talk to a cop” (25). This incident suggests women are not necessarily less sexist than men in their preconceptions. The point is made again when Maron's leading character is addressed as “Judge honey” by the elderly aunt of a defendant (Southern 40).

In other situations townspeople clearly object to a woman holding a position of authority on the police force. The chiefs of police in both the Hess and Weir series find themselves criticized and ridiculed by townspeople and city officials. In one case the critics include the town's mayor (Hess 92).

MAJOR PLOT ELEMENT

As is obvious from the preceding pages, the trend of incorporating current social issues into the genre of women detective fiction has been observed for at least 20 years. In the past these social issues were peripheral to the mystery; more recently they have become the major plot element. This occurs because fiction often draws on the real world for its characterizations and situations. Issues of care of the elderly, homelessness, addiction, child abuse, racism, sexism, and antiSemitism are major crises in modern society. Thus contemporary writers are paying considerable attention to these themes. What follows is an analysis of two works in which current social problems take center stage, one dealing with racism and the other with antiSemitism.¹²

Gillian Roberts, herself a former English teacher in Philadelphia, has created the protagonist Amanda Pepper in her own image: Pepper teaches English in Philly Prep, an exclusive private high school in the “City of Brotherly Love.” In a recent volume in this series, racism rears its ugly head. The following major events unfold: the death of a young Vietnamese boy, the harassment of an extremely competent black faculty member, and the near-death attack on a young white student because of his involvement with a female Vietnamese student. These acts are committed by members of a clandestine association called WAPA—White Alliance to Preserve America—to which Philly Prep students have been recruited by a white male instructor hired to teach in a special summer program.

Roberts masterfully builds to these major events. Initially, subtle comments and situations reveal the racist undertones of the plot. In a verbal confrontation, a white teacher attacks a black teacher for her use of the term “handicapped” rather than “physically challenged” to describe a student who has cerebral palsy. The dialogue unfolds:

“Oh you!” [the white teacher] said. “You'd think you of all people would show a little sensitivity to the power of language. If we stopped stigmatizing exceptional people through the violence of our syntax. …”

“[W]hy me of all people? Were you trying to say that I'm black? Well, hey, I'm aware of that,” [the black teacher said].

(21)

That life in the City of Brotherly Love is not so loving is also conveyed by the musing of the heroine after viewing a park scene on a beautiful summer day: there are slow-moving elderly women, young students sitting on the fountain's edge—chattering and dipping their feet in the cool water, three children—one white, one olive-complexioned, and one “the color of smoke” with dreadlocks—playing frisbee together, and a nanny caring for a little Asian boy. Pepper thinks: “Reader's Digest would make a cunning anecdote out of this sliver of Americana. Except the reason the sight had so impressed me was because it was rare. It was how it was supposed to be, more or less, but not how it was” (35).

The illusionary nature of the moment is soon very clear—shortly after the heroine returns to her classroom, one of the most violent incidents depicted in the book occurs when a young Vietnamese boy is killed outside of Philly Prep. It is not immediately tied to the school since he is not a student there and the killing is thought to be a random act, a drive-by shooting (38).

At the school racism increases in intensity from words to action. Flora Jones, the black computer science teacher, reveals to Pepper that she has been the target of racial harassment. The first attack is only one of words: one of the milder hate messages on her answering machine tells the Cincinnati-born woman to return to Africa (35).

As in real life, the acts of violence against Jones escalate from threats to physical attack. It is not her person that is attacked, but her space—her office is desecrated, her equipment dirtied, and M-U-D! is written on her blackboard. The word, she says, is used by “the crazies [who] call people like me and Asians and anybody who doesn't have their gray skin—they call us the mud people” (71).

Not only are members of the minority communities themselves the targets of attack but, in the book as in American society today, persons who associate with the minorities are also attacked. The heroine finds a note in her faculty mail box warning her against her friendship with Jones:

Stop Loving Mud People or are You One Too, a Jew? Your Kind has to Go, No More Niggers and Gooks. No More Warnings.

(106)

Such guilt by association does not stop at warnings. One of the most violent attacks is perpetrated against the young white male student, Woody, who was recruited into WAPA. Because of his friendship with the Vietnamese student, April, he reconsiders his membership and tries to drop out. But no one is allowed to leave. As an example to others, Woody is literally crucified—nailed to the basketball backboard in the school gym. Fortunately, Pepper and her policeman friend come upon the scene and cut Woody down in time to save his life. The hideousness of the action overwhelms the paramedics who have been called to the scene. One of them, a Latino, recognizes the letters that have been carved into Woody's skin—WAPA. “Vicious lunatic white supremacists. But what in God's name do they want with him? The boy looks to be or have been, at least, precisely what they so horribly want to preserve” (150). And what justification do such racists give? The teacher/organizer of WAPA at Philly Prep makes clear their rationale:

[W]e're nothing more than patriots, good solid Americans trying to make this a better place. … Like it or not this country was founded by revolutionaries, and revolutionaries will save it. … [Save it] from pollution—disintegration—mongrelization. A complete loss of identity.

(194)

The racism in this book highlights the way in which prejudice—negative attitudes—gets translated into discrimination—actions against the minority. But prejudice has other consequences for the minority. It sometimes results in minority group members turning against their own people or rejecting the ethnic, racial, or religious status that makes them the target of such negativism.

A second novel, Angel of Death by Rochelle Majer Krich, has anti-Semitism as its main focus. It is a very complicated plot, depicting malicious acts and interweaving these with reactions from Jews which either harm them personally or others of their group. Another response to anti-Semitism on the part of Jews is their rejection of their own ethnic heritage.

The mystery begins with a common hate crime—a Star of David painted in red, along with a note pinned on the door of a prominent Jewish attorney. The note said: “The Angel of Death spared your forefathers—will he spare you?” (5).

The reason for this message is that the lawyer, Barry Lewis, is defending the right of the white supremacist group, White Alliance, to parade through Jewish neighborhoods on Hitler's birthday. His rationale: “[T]he First Amendment guarantees my client a right to conduct that parade … and I'm committed to seeing that those rights aren't violated. Sometimes you have to defend your enemy to ultimately protect yourself” (9). Lewis is interested in protecting the rights of all, even those who are antiSemitic, in order to ensure his own right to speak out against the bigotry and hatred directed at him and other Jews.

AntiSemitism is often subtle. Immediately one wonders what other pressures operate on Lewis to take this case. It is unclear whether the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) asked him to take the parade case or he insisted that it be assigned to him. Later, when a member of the Alliance is charged with an assault on an elderly Jewish woman during the parade, Lewis's firm is approached by the Alliance to take the case and to assign Lewis to it. How likely is it that the firm would have pressured a nonJew to take a case in which the defendant is accused of attacking a member of the attorney's own ethnic, racial, or religious group? Is this another form of antiSemitism? When Lewis argues he cannot “zealously defend … and do his case justice,” the partner intimates that he is to do so or risk his future with the firm: “I wouldn't ask you to do anything that you found morally abhorrent. But I think that after … evaluating all the factors, you'll be able to make the right choice” (145-46).

The widespread hostile attitude toward Jews also is evident in this work. Jessica Drake, the homicide lieutenant assigned to the case, becomes more aware of it when several of her colleagues question the veracity of the Holocaust. In fact, her love affair with a fellow police officer begins to unravel when he expresses his agreement with these colleagues: “How do we know there really was a Holocaust? … [T]here was a war, and Jews died. So did lots of other people. That's what happens in wars. But six million Jews? … Sounds exaggerated to me” (154).

But the essence of this work is the way in which antiSemitism negatively affects the behavior of Jews themselves. Not all Jews believe it is their personal obligation to protect the rights of those who would harm them. Lewis becomes the target of retribution in the form of telephone calls and letters from many Jewish groups and individuals. Then the most violent of all acts occurs: Barry Lewis is murdered. Since many Jewish groups have been involved in the harassment of Lewis, some of their organizers become possible suspects. The police find the killer, a Jew. He is an ordinary man who became unhinged after his mother, the assault victim at the parade, died. Without the hatred and prejudice against Jews fueled by antiSemitic groups, this murder of one Jew by another would not have been committed.

Another element of the Jewish response to antiSemitism is woven into the plot: the issue of the denial of one's Jewish identity. Here the focus is the detective herself. The crisis is Drake's need to come to grips with her newly discovered Jewishness in the face of her mother's denial of her heritage. The mother is unwilling to acknowledge that she has Jewish relatives and is negative toward things Jewish. Drake exclaims:

You have this look of distaste whenever you see someone wearing a skullcap or Hasidic clothing. … You say things like ‘This is America’ or ‘Why can't they look like everybody else?’ You don't say the same thing when you see Sikhs or Hare Krishnas or other people who dress differently.

(218)

Her mother reveals to her that Drake is Jewish; that her mother's family perished in the Holocaust, having left their youngest daughter in the care of a Christian family in Poland. Drake's comment that she would have liked to have known that she was half-Jewish elicits this response from her mother: “You are what you choose to be, Jessica. I'm perfectly happy with the life I've chosen. I have no regrets, no guilt” (227).

This issue is complicated by the fact that Drake's former husband, with whom she is re-establishing a relationship, is Jewish. She reflects back on why her mother was so relieved when his family had not insisted that the couple be married by a rabbi. These revelations leave her confused. All of a sudden, she is Jewish, not Episcopalian.

Is being Jewish genetic or spiritual … ? There's something about Judaism that appeals to me. I want to explore that feeling. My mom wants to go on as if nothing's changed. So does [my sister]. But everything has changed.

(319)

Krich attacks the issue of antiSemitism on many levels. The bigotry of others toward Jews, the “issue of liberty versus license,”¹³ and, perhaps most interesting, the degree to which antiSemitism engenders attacks on Jews by Jews. Also explored is the crisis of identity that many face when confronted with their Jewish heritage.¹⁴ All are crucial to the plot, even though the last is not relevant to the mystery per se or its solution.

THE SLEUTHS' VIEWPOINTS

No matter how prominent or insignificant antiminority sentiment is as a theme, the stands taken by female sleuths are almost universally liberal and politically correct. Nowhere are the views more explicit than in Nevada Barr's third novel when the mice that have invaded the park ranger's summer quarters are termed “politically correct pets” (241) or when Maron's protagonist eagerly participates in an informal trapshooting contest and muses:

I know it's not politically correct to enjoy shooting, and given the option I'd certainly vote for much stricter gun control; but we all know it's not a constitutional issue no matter what the NRA [National Rifle Association] says. Why else would so many men use gun images to describe sex? “Hotter'n a two-dollar pistol.” “Shoot my wad.” “Firing blanks.” All that power, all that force and all you have to do is pull a trigger.

(Shooting 93)

But what are more revealing than mere words are the sleuths' actions, particularly their surprising number of interracial and interreligious personal and professional associations,¹⁵ close friendships,¹⁶ love interests,¹⁷ and marriages.¹⁸ One especially liberal view is found in Judith Van Gieson's works. The narrator and heroine of the series awakens one night and looks at her young Mexican lover:

I looked at his skinny body stretched out naked in my bed and thought how familiar it was … I thought about the alien population to the south that sneaks across our borders increasing the heterozygosity of our breeding population, expanding the gene pool, adding to our diversity. I woke him with a kiss.

(179)

Sometimes the female sleuth's political position on race issues is apparent from a casual remark. Sara Paretsky's private eye, V. I. Warshawski, notes at one point that she had spent many years fighting the “prowar, anti-abortion, racist world” (Killing 88). In other series the sleuth's ideological position is more frequently called into play, but not necessarily as a plot element. Isabelle Holland's character is an assistant rector in a Protestant church, who views combating racism as a significant part of her vocation as an urban minister, not as part of her avocation as an amateur detective. Mary Daheim's newspaper editor, the main character in her Alpine series, remarks about a young African American nurse who has taken a job in her community: “She'll offer Alpine a positive image of African-Americans. … I'm glad she's here. With so many commuters from Everett and even Seattle, it's about time we get some racial mix” (11).

Other sleuths reveal their liberal leanings in the groups they join, the causes they support, and the illegalities they ignore. In the first book in her new series, Carolyn Hart's amateur sleuth, Henrie O., solves the mystery and discovers that an apparent murder is actually a suicide. But she decides not to notify the authorities so that the man's heir can collect the insurance money, and use it to fund a media empire through which he will continue his fight for various social causes. An amateur sleuth created by Virginia Rich, and later developed by Nancy Pickard, tacitly approves of her ranch hands helping illegal aliens. She and her late husband “had always viewed it as humanitarian aid”:

like the underground railroad that sheltered runaway slaves during the Civil War. And so [they] had never interfered with what was obviously a moral imperative for their ranch manager and their hired hand.

(The 27* 55)

Similarly, Susan Wittig Albert's protagonist is an attorney who worked to help illegal aliens during the U.S. government's declared amnesty in the 1980s.

Furthermore, whenever anything racist or antiSemitic occurs in the books reviewed, more likely than not the criminal did it. For example, Nancy Baker Jacobs' sleuth finds herself involved in a case that brings her into contact with the Aryan Supremacy Party (ASP), a mid-western group that staunchly supports the NRA and seeks political power, hoping to take back the cities from the minorities. Its slogan is “Hitler was right;” its members are described as “people whose lives've been ruined by the moneymen—the Jews.” One of ASP's officers describes the organization this way:

We were a helluva team until that asshole Jew of yours poisoned [our treasurer], like the slimy, sneaky bastards all his race are. … ASP wants the country the way it was before the kikes, the niggers and the slant-eyed illegals started takin' over and we're gonna get it back.

(140)

White supremacist criminals are featured also in Bridgit McKenna's Dead Ahead. Similarly, in one of Linda Barnes' books the murderer is an extreme bigot whose only regret in killing an African American nurse was that she was not an African American doctor! (356). The victim had stumbled onto his plan to sell worthless, dangerous chemotherapy substitutes in third-world countries.

If anyone makes a prejudiced or biased remark, it is rarely the heroine. Early in the novels by Dana Stabenow, the protagonist's Aleut grandmother exhibits extreme prejudice against whites; the sleuth herself is highly assimilated in the larger society and has had both a white and an African American lover. In Mary Bowen Hall's series the bigot is one of the heroine's suitors, who consistently refers to Asians as “Jap bastards” or “Jap clowns” (45). Similarly, there is a sheriff, an antiAsian bigot, whose remarks offend Louise Hendricksen's character. “Slant eyes” and “gook” are among the epithets he uses to describe Asian Americans, especially the Vietnamese and Cambodians living in the state of Washington (145, 148). And in Marissa Piesman's series, Nina Fischman admonishes fellow Jews, including her mother, for making disparaging remarks about Gentiles or portraying Jews as superior to other people. In one scene, the mother comments about the disappearance of a suspect: “Leaving your wife and child, your business partners, your mother, without any idea of where you've gone. Characteristically, it's not very … um …” (22). Fishman retorts:

Jewish. It's not very Jewish, is that what you're trying to say? … Haven't you ever read that stuff about the abandonment rate on the Lower East Side at the turn of the century? … Apparently all those Jewish husbands took off like shots. [This one] was just a throwback, I guess.

(22)

But even Fischman nearly gets caught up in what she terms “shiksaphobia,” noting that when “you had four Jewish women in a room discussing a thin, blond Gentile woman who had married a rich Jewish man, it was easy to get carried away” (210).

There are a few exceptions—that is, books in which it is the woman sleuth who is prejudiced and does the stereotyping. Stephanie Matteson's leading character describes one young Chinese woman whom she has come to know:

Even in pigtails and the ubiquitous blue drill Mao suit, she was lovely, with a grace and dignity that was lacking in most Chinese women. The homeliness of the Chinese women was a mystery to [me].

(54-55)

But even in this instance, a qualification or disclaimer is made which attempts to soften the impact of the remark. Matteson's character continues: “The Taiwanese women she'd seen had been beautiful, so it wasn't a racial thing … It was as if the constrictions on their freedom had somehow been imprinted on their features” (54-55, emphasis added). In the same way, B. J. Oliphant's heroine supports the English-only referendum in her state, but still has friends in the ACLU and gets along well with her Hispanic neighbors. Nonetheless her plan for solving the urban crisis is:

Compulsory schooling for all illiterates and quasi-literates—sex segregated work camps until they could read, write and speak standard English. … “I'm all for all human rights to every unfeathered thing that walks about on two legs. … But civil rights can only apply to civilized people, and children aren't born civilized. They're born barbarians. And if parents can't and the state won't [civilize them], you end up with barbarian tribes warring through the streets of your cities!”

(3)

What is a more interesting exception to the pattern of female sleuths being unbiased, is the tendency of some to rail against the dominant group. Are those views prejudiced? Are the characterizations of whites, especially Gentile white men, stereotypical? Apparently not! In liberal, politically correct circles it seems socially acceptable to be antiwhite Anglo-Saxon Protestants, and to refer to the group's members as WASPs, even though similar remarks about a minority group would be considered epithets and ethno-racial slurs. Consider a remark by Carolina Garcia-Aguilera's sleuth about her current lover: “for a WASP, Charlie was unusually passionate” (129).

Michael Kahn's Jewish heroine derides her Gentile colleagues:

Benny Goldberg was an anomaly at Abbott & Windsor, a chubby Jew among tall, athletic Wasps. … Benny also had a first name that sounded like a first name and a last name that sounded like a last name. This, too, put him in the minority at Abbott & Windsor, where most of the lawyers had interchangeable first and last names. The firm's letterhead included Sterling Grant, Hamilton Frederick, Porter Edwards, Hayden James …

(47-48)

In a review of a recent book by Piesman, Marilyn Stasio of The New York Times states:

Alternate Sides finds this die-hard Jewish liberal in a crisis of indecision because her new boyfriend … has asked her to move in with him—in an architecturally insipid high-rise on the WASP-infested East Side. It's bad enough that the tenants of this “low I.Q. building” wear toupees and live to play tennis; but the mailman is running a prostitution ring and somebody just killed the doorman. Is this the proper environment for a socially conscious West Sider like [Fischman]?

(21, emphasis added)

Carolyn Hart's senior citizen sleuth is extremely distressed by the fact that an employee of her former lover beats his Latina wife. The amateur detective confronts her former lover:

“[Y]ou know how that man treats Rosalia, and you haven't done a damn thing about it.” He shrugged. “All right, sometimes I'm a bastard. I never said I was perfect. But why the hell does she put up with it?” It didn't surprise me. He had the arrogant confidence of a rich white man who had never been dependent, never in his whole life. No one had ever physically hurt him or threatened him. The world belonged to him and men like him. They had a trigger-quick disdain for anyone who wouldn't fight back. They didn't believe in a victim's resigned acceptance of abuse, the victim's pitiful sense of punishment deserved. “She puts up with it …” I began. Then I shook my head. “She's scared and she's cowed and emotionally crippled. But you aren't, and you've got the chips. You'll remedy it?”

(115)

Nowhere in the literature reviewed is the sleuth's remark more pointed than when Barbara Neely's protagonist exclaims about rich white men:

Being in possession of that particular set of characteristics meant a person could do pretty much anything he wanted to do, to pretty much anybody he chose—like an untrained dog chewing and shitting all over the place.

(125)

These references make clear the trend: the series incorporates dialogue and issues that reflect prejudice and discrimination. Most do so from the politically correct position of the female authors. But some remarks, which if directed against a minority would be considered offensive, inappropriate or prejudicial, when leveled at the dominant group are perfectly acceptable.

CONCLUSION

Although the central core of today's mystery fiction still revolves around traditional motives of greed, jealousy, and revenge, novels featuring serialized female sleuths often include broader social, economic, or political issues. Among the most frequently cited issues are prejudice and discrimination against minorities. The issues may or may not be important to the solution of the mystery, but they provide a level of insight into the problems of the society in which the stories take place that was absent in earlier mysteries.

The question now arises as to whether the tendency to use the mystery novel as a platform for social commentary is as common to male sleuths and their authors as it appears to be for their female counterparts. Is the content of the literature reviewed here typical of all mystery fiction written since 1980 or does it reflect gender differences among the authors and the perceptions of how female sleuths should be portrayed given that most of their fans are women? A preliminary look at the broader genre suggests male dominated mystery fiction focuses far less on broader social issues and contexts. The literature analyzed here is typical only of that featuring women as amateur or professional detectives.

Notes

1. In 1988 only about one quarter of all mystery titles first published in the United States in any format (26٪) or titles published in paperback whether original or reprints (25٪) were written by women. By 1991, the figure for first mysteries with female authors was up to 29٪ and for paperbacks it was 36٪. Preliminary figures for 1995 showed a dramatic leap to 42٪ and 48.5٪ respectively. Overall the number of titles by women has risen substantially; paperback mystery publishing is almost evenly divided between men and women authors. Data taken from Drood Review of Mystery, as reprinted in Sisters in Crime Newsletter, 3.2 (June 1996): 8. Also see The New York Times, 17 Mar. 1997: D1, with respect to the book market becoming “increasingly a woman's market.”

2. Abigail Padgett's series features a childcare worker concerned about abuse while the lead characters of both Elaine Raco Chase and Carol O'Connell were severely abused as children.

3. See for example, Nancy Pickard, Marriage Is Murder (New York: Scribner's 1987); Carolyn G. Hart, Dead Man's Island (New York: Bantam, 1993); Lillian O'Donnell, Used to Kill (New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1993); and Janet Dawson, Take a Number (New York: Fawcett, 1993).

4. Julie Smith's attorney-sleuth joins a group in support of legalizing prostitution. Prostitution is also a theme in Barbara D'Amato, Hard Women (New York: Macmillan, 1996), and a social issue sympathetically portrayed in a series by Isabelle Holland featuring an assistant rector whose ministry involves as much social work as it does pastoral care.

5. Sara Paretsky, Burn Marks (New York: Delacorte, 1990); Pat Welch, Smoke and Mirrors (Tallahassee, FL: Naiad, 1996).

6. For example, Linda Barnes's heroine was married to a coke addict and the father of the little girl to whom she is a “Big Sister” is a Colombian drug lord. The Edwina Crusoe series by Mary Kittredge focuses on the sleuthing of a nurse and makes repeated reference to addiction, especially of people in the medical profession. The sleuth or a member of her family is an alcoholic or in recovery in the following: Susan Wittig Albert, Witches' Bane (New York: Scribner's, 1993); Nevada Barr, Ill Wind (New York: Putnam, 1995); Patricia Cornwell, The Body Farm (New York: Scribner's, 1994), Jean Femling, Hush Money (New York: St. Martin's, 1989); Marcia Muller's novels featuring Joanna Stark; and the series by Pele Plante, Elaine Raco Chase, Kerry Tucker, Jean Hager, Catherine Dain, Meg O'Brien, Karen Saum, Sharon Zukowski, and Sarah Shankman.

7. For example, the sleuths in the series by Sarah Shankman, Annette Meyers, and Nancy Baker Jacobs all have loved ones who were killed by drunken drivers; in Kathy Hogan Trocheck, Heart Problems (New York: Harper Collins, 1996), a white female offender gets off lightly in a racially charged DWI killing.

8. Richard Barth's character is a volunteer in homeless shelters and a number of her cronies are threatened with the prospect of becoming homeless. Also see, Lee Harris, The Yom Kippur Murders (New York: Fawcett, 1992), Sara Paretsky, Burn Marks, op. cit. and her Tunnel Vision (New York: Delacorte, 1994).

9. See, for example, the series by Jaye Maiman or Mary Wings; Julie Smith, Jazz Funeral (New York: Fawcett Columbine, 1993); Marcia Muller, Wolf in the Shadows (New York: Mysterious Press, 1993); and Paretsky, Burn Marks, op. cit.

10. Homophobia is an issue for several characters. See for example the series by Dorothy Tell and Pele Plante. It also arises in Annette Meyers, Murder: The Musical (New York: Doubleday, 1993) and in the later works in Julie Smith's Skip Langdon series.

11. The environment is a particular concern in the writings of Nevada Barr, Jean Hager, B. J. Oliphant, Dana Stabenow, and Judith Van Gieson.

12. Several other books could be used to illustrate these issues: Edna Buchanan, Contents Under Pressure (New York: Hyperion, 1992) deals with an attack by racist police on an African American man who is a retired football player and current inner city youth worker in Miami, FL; Elizabeth Atwood Taylor, The Northwest Murders (New York: St. Martin's, 1994) in which historical prejudice in California against Native Americans and Chinese is integral to the plot; Penny Mickelbury, Keeping Secrets (Tallahassee, FL: Naiad, 1993), and Night Songs (Tallahassee, FL: Naiad, 1994). The latter two books are in a series featuring a woman detective who heads the recently formed Hate Crimes Unit in Washington, DC. They deal with antigay crimes, but the Unit is intended to deal with all types of hate crimes.

13. Quotation from a reviewer reprinted at the beginning of the book.

14. This issue has recently received a lot of attention in the media because of the discovery by Secretary of State Madeleine Albright that her parents were Christian converts from Judaism.

15. See the series by Catherine Dain, Linda Grant, Nancy Baker Jacobs, and Kathy Hogan Trocheck.

16. See the recent books in the series by Catherine Dain, in which the sleuth is dating a Filipino; in Lee Harris's series the sleuth, a former Roman Catholic nun, has as best friends her Jewish employer, a Jewish neighbor, and the Mother Superior of the convent she has left; in Abigail Padgett's series the sleuth's best friend is a Latina.

17. Among the series in which interreligious or interracial love affairs occur are those by Judith Van Gieson, Sara Paretsky, Nevada Barr, Dana Stabenow, and Margaret Maron (the Deborah Knotts series).

18. Sara Paretsky's and Linda Barnes's heroines are the offspring of interreligious marriages and Katherine Lasky Knight's sleuth herself was married to someone of another faith.

Works Cited

Albert, Susan Wittig. Witches' Bane. New York: Scribner's, 1993.

Barnes, Linda. Snapshot. New York: Dell, 1993.

Barr, Nevada. Ill Wind. New York: Putnam, 1995.

Breen, Jon L. Introduction. The Fine Art of Murder. Ed. Ed Gorman et al. New York: Carroll & Graf, 1993. 3-6.

Buchanan, Edna. Contents Under Pressure. New York: Hyperion, 1992.

Carlson, P. M. Gravestone. New York: Pocket Books, 1993.

Cornwell, Patricia. The Body Farm. New York: Scribner's, 1994.

Daheim, Mary. Alpine Decoy. New York: Ballantine, 1994.

Dain, Catherine. Sing a Song of Death. New York: Berkley, 1993.

D'Amato, Barbara. Hard Women. New York: Macmillan, 1996.

Dawson, Janet. Take a Number. New York: Fawcett, 1993.

Dunlap, Susan. Time Expired. New York: Delacorte, 1993.

Femling, Jean. Hush Money. New York: St. Martin's, 1989.

Garcia-Aguilera, Carolina. Bloody Waters. New York: Putnam, 1996.

Hall, Mary Bowen. Emma Chizzit and the Napa Nemesis. New York: Walker & Co., 1992.

Harris, Lee. The Yom Kippur Murders. New York: Fawcett, 1992.

Hart, Carolyn G. Dead Man's Island. New York: Bantam, 1993.

Hendricksen, Louise. Lethal Legacy. New York: Putnam, 1995.

Hess, Joan. Madness in Maggody. New York: St. Martin's, 1991.

Hornsby, Wendy. Bad Intent. New York: Dutton, 1994.

Jacobs, Nancy Baker. The Turquoise Tattoo. New York: Pocket Books, 1991.

Kahn, Michael. Grave Designs. New York: Signet, 1992.

Krich, Rochelle Majer. Angel of Death. New York: Mysterious Press, 1994.

MacLeod, Charlotte. The Bilbao Looking Glass. New York: Avon, 1983.

Maron, Margaret. Shooting at Loons. New York: Mysterious Press, 1994.

———. Southern Discomfort. New York: Mysterious Press, 1993.

Martin, Lee. Deficit Ending. New York: St. Martin's, 1990.

Matteson, Stephanie. Murder on the Silk Road. New York: Diamond Books, 1992.

McKenna, Bridgit. Dead Ahead. New York: Berkley, 1994.

Meyers, Annette. Murder: The Musical. New York: Doubleday, 1993.

Mickelbury, Penny. Keeping Secrets. Tallahassee, FL: Naiad, 1993.

———. Night Songs. Tallahassee, FL: Naiad, 1994.

Muller, Marcia. Edwin of the Iron Shoes. New York: David McKay-Washburn, 1977.

———. “In the Tradition of … Herself.” The Fine Art of Murder. Ed. Ed Gorman et al. New York: Carroll & Graf. 156-57.

———. Wolf in the Shadows. New York: Mysterious Press, 1993.

Neely, Barbara. Blanche on the Lam. New York: St. Martin's, 1992.

New York Times, 17 March 1997: D1.

Nordan, Robert. Death Beneath the Christmas Tree. New York: Fawcett, 1991.

O'Donnell, Lillian. Lockout. New York: Putnam, 1994.

———. No Business Being a Cop. New York: Putnam, 1979.

———. Pushover. New York: Putnam, 1992.

———. Used to Kill. New York: Putnam, 1993.

Oliphant, B. J. Deservedly Dead. New York: Fawcett, 1992.

Paretsky, Sara. Burn Marks. New York: Delacorte, 1990.

———. Killing Orders. New York: Ballantine, 1985.

———. Tunnel Vision. New York: Delacorte, 1994.

Paul, Barbara. The Apostrophe Thief. New York: Macmillan, 1993.

Pickard, Nancy. Marriage Is Murder. New York: Scribner's, 1987.

———. The 27* Ingredient Chile Con Carne Murders. New York: Delacorte, 1993.

Piesman, Marissa. Heading Uptown. New York: Delacorte, 1993.

Roberts, Gillian. In the Dead of Summer. New York: Ballantine, 1995.

Sims, L. V. Murder Is Only Skin Deep. New York: Charter, 1987.

“Sisters in Crime.” Newsletter 3.2 (June 1996): 8.

Smith, Julie. Jazz Funeral. New York; Fawcett, 1993.

Stabenow, Dana. A Cold Day for Murder. New York: Berkley, 1992.

Stasio, Marilyn. Review of Marissa Piesman. Alternate Sides in The New York Times, Book Review 20 Aug. 1995: 21.

Taylor, Elizabeth Atwood. The Northwest Murders. New York: St. Martin's, 1994.

Trocheck, Kathy Hogan. Heart Problems. New York: Harper Collins, 1996.

———. To Live and Die in Dixie. New York: Harper Collins, 1993.

Van Gieson, Judith. The Wolf Path. New York: Harper Paperbacks, 1992.

Welch, Pat. Smoke and Mirrors. Tallahassee, FL: Naiad, 1996.

First Volumes in Series Cited

Baker, Nikki. In the Game. Tallahassee, FL: Naiad, 1991.

Barth, Richard. The Rag Bag Clan. New York: Dial, 1978.

Bland, Eleanor Taylor. Dead Time. New York: Signet, 1992.

Chase, Elaine Raco. Dangerous Places. New York: Bantam, 1987.

Grant, Linda. Random Access Murder. New York: Avon, 1988.

Hager, Jean. Ravenmocker. New York: Mysterious Press, 1992.

Herndon, Nancy. Acid Bath. New York: Berkley, 1995.

Holland, Isabelle. Flight of the Archangel. New York: Doubleday, 1985.

Horansky, Ruby. Dead Ahead. New York: Avon, 1990.

Jance, J. J. Desert Heat, New York: Avon, 1993.

Kittredge, Mary. Fatal Diagnosis. New York: St. Martin's, 1990.

Knight, Kathryn Lasky. Trace Elements. New York: Pocket Books, 1987.

Maiman, Jaye. I Left My Heart. Tallahassee, FL: Naiad, 1991.

Muller, Marcia. The Cavalier in White. New York: St. Martin's, 1986.

Neely, Barbara. Blanche on the Lam. New York: St. Martin's, 1992.

O'Brien, Meg. The Daphne Decisions. New York: Bantam, 1988.

O'Connell, Carol. Mallory's Oracle. New York: Putnam, 1994.

Padgett, Abigail. Child of Silence. New York: Mysterious Press, 1993.

Plante, Pele. Dirty Money. Los Angeles, CA: Clothespin Fever Press, 1991.

Santiago, Soledad. Nightside. New York: Doubleday, 1994.

Saum, Karen. Murder Is Relative. Tallahassee, FL: Naiad, 1990.

Shankman, Sarah. (Originally issued as Alice Storey.) First Kill All the Lawyers. New York: Pocket Books, 1988.

Smith, Julie. Dead in the Water. New York: Ballantine, 1992.

Tell, Dorothy. Murder at Red Rock Ranch. Tallahassee, FL: Naiad, 1990.

Tucker, Kerry. Still Waters. New York: Harper Collins, 1991.

Weir, Charlene. The Winter Widow. New York: St. Martin's, 1992.

Wings, Mary. She Came Too Late. Freedom, CA: The Crossing Press, 1987.

Zukowski, Sharon. The Hour of the Knife. New York: St. Martin's, 1991.